


love languages

by yaskiers



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, inspired by a tumblr post, no beta we die like witchers, unspecified time and place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaskiers/pseuds/yaskiers
Summary: in which jaskier is fluent in love
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 308
Collections: these bitches gay! good for them!!





	love languages

Jaskier spoke many languages. Though it often came as a shock to those around him (he may be handsome but he was certainly more than a pretty face-), it was not truly surprising for a traveling bard to have picked up the languages of the Continent. He could be seen exchanging words with a lord or lady in the language of their native kingdom, and while his words were careful, they were sure and beautiful still.

He was fluent in the language of music. The language of soft tunes and high notes, of humming and poems and _emotion_. He could say more in a song than he could in a thousand words, his heart and his self reflected always in his work. 

But the language he spoke the best was love. Jaskier spoke love as any other breathed. He loved and loved and loved, his love given as freely as his music and joy and laughter. 

So when he found himself looking for Geralt instinctively no matter where he was, he knew. When he caught himself brushing shoulders with him, clutching his arm, his waist, randomly wishing to hold him, he knew. When he referred to himself as “the Witcher’s bard” to a barmaid. When he caught Geralt’s eye in a tavern. When he realized he knew every movement that Geralt made at any time, that he could understand every grunt or twitch of his eyebrows, or change in his expression. Jaskier knew what he looked like when he was in love. 

And such was the language of love. 

He knew ( _thought_ ) it was one-sided. Geralt liked women, and even if he did like men, liking men and liking Jaskier were two very different things. He resigned himself to following his Witcher forever, and he knew he would, for when Jaskier fell in love, he fell hard. 

Jaskier found out in no time how wrong the rumours about Witchers were.

He found Geralt was capable of emotions, of feelings. Whoever started the rumor that Witchers couldn’t feel was so incredibly wrong it hurt Jaskier’s heart sometimes. He knew that Geralt viewed himself as a monster. He could see it in the way Geralt turned his body to make himself seem smaller when a little girl in a village was scared by his massive, towering form. He could hear it in the way Geralt made his movements silent when they entered the inn after a hunt. He could feel it in the way Geralt had refused to let Jaskier see his eyes by huddling in on himself and turning away after a particularly nasty battle with a pack of werewolves, and when Jaskier had refused to take no for an answer ( _don’t be stupid geralt, someone has to take care of that bite and we both know it won’t be you)_ and had forcefully grabbed his arm and spun him around to face him (they both knew geralt could have easily stopped him, ~~and yet he didn’t~~ ) Geralt had all but flinched, staring at the ground blankly as if he expected Jaskier to slap him and then run away screaming. 

Jaskier, the Witcher’s bard, the teller of stories and writer of poems, was perfectly aware that Geralt of Rivia was perfectly capable of emotions ~~and yet he still wouldn't love him back.~~

When he looked back, he found that he had spent so much time watching Geralt with others, he never truly thought about what Geralt was like with him. Perhaps he simply could not see clearly, for the truth was right in front of him, as garish and startling as any noble. 

And eventually, as Jaskier lived and breathed with his Witcher, with his love, he found himself learning to speak _it_ . To speak the love language of ~~emotionally stupid men~~ Geralt of Rivia. 

Jaskier’s love was encompassing, bright, lively and loud. It was smiling and laughter and embraces. It was brilliant, and it was far from subtle. 

Geralt’s as he learned, was different, and yet as beautiful as any he had ever spoken before. Geralt loved, and he showed it subtly, in glimpses and twitches of his mouth, in moments that Jaskier would grasp with all of his might and still have slip through his fingers. 

Geralt’s love was spending the last of their coin on a room at an inn because he had noticed how Jaskier was limping slightly from a cut on his foot from the day before, and knew that he needed to get some actual rest. 

Geralt’s love was telling Jaskier he wasn’t all that hungry anyways, saying his “magic witcher mutations” as Jaskier liked to call them made him need less food.

Geralt’s love was in the way he instinctively stood behind Jaskier when he was talking to anyone he had deemed untrustworthy even in the slightest, ready to push the bard behind him and defend him with his life at any moment. 

Geralt’s love was the way he relaxed completely only around Jaskier, when the two of them were alone at an inn or in the woods, when he trusted the bard with his life so fully it scared even him. 

Geralt’s love was calling Jaskier “Jas” and rolling his eyes when the bard had gotten himself into yet another heap of trouble, and while he always threatened to let him rot in whichever prison he was sentenced to this time, he never truly did. 

Geralt’s love was knowing that Jaskier was _his bard_. 

To anyone else, or even to himself in the past, it would seem as if Geralt of Rivia saw him as nothing more than an annoying bard he had been stuck with for too long. But to those who understood, if not spoke, the love language of Geralt of Rivia, it was obvious. It was clearer than a Cintran sky in July. 

Geralt of Rivia was head over heels for his bard. Luckily for him, his bard had been smitten for a long time. 

There was more to love than “I love you.”

Jaskier knew as he was held close by Geralt under the starry night sky, tucked under his chin, large hands combing through his short hair, that he was loved. He was cared for.

For out of all the languages Jaskier spoke, he knew in his heart that the only one that mattered was Geralt’s. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! this is the first thing i've written in months, and honestly i just love these two so much i had no choice. shoutout to my sister liz for being my muse and biggest supporter. the witcher is a masterpiece, and i have so. many. feelings. let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> im also @wlwmorgana on twitter and tumblr so please come say hi!
> 
> thanks for reading :)


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